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Sam...

“Your house looks like a Roman candle!” Sam turned the Lexus onto the long private drive, pleased that Balor had allowed him to drive his car. Beyond the field where all the guests had parked, the house blazed high on the hill. “The crowd was a good one. Look how few places are left to park.”

Orp sat up straighter as they passed the vehicles that most likely no longer had owners. “I always wanted a jeep. Do you think I could have that one?”

Balor shook his head and tapped a manicured finger against the glass. “I imagine the grieving families will want to sell their loved ones’ vehicles. So sad. They came to a media event and found themselves part of a lowly barbecue.” He chuckled darkly. “A horrible accident.” He paused. “Or a conspiracy.”

“Do you think we have time to carve something to take home for Cary?” Sam glanced toward Balor as he turned left. “How many puppet strings does your family control in the local police department? Would they notice a missing roast or two? It might be a nice offering, since we won’t let him carve up the kid.”

Balor shook his head. “We don’t eat our guests. That is simply bad manners.” He shrugged. “He can take her apart when she is no longer useful alive.”

“How about stealing from them? Can we empty the pockets of guests?” Sam grinned. “Your wife might enjoy being gifted a pair of earrings this evening when you go to bed.”

“Theft is a family tradition. I can’t see the harm in that if you are quick.” He waved a hand dismissively. “And if we have the time. Our priority is finding Orp’s little protegee. If he lived.”

From the back seat, Orp argued, “I can’t be faulted if he broke because the house caught on fire.”

Balor arched one brow. “You think so, do you?”

*

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Jeremiah…

David froze next to Jeremiah. A car was coming up the road, lights on, jazz pouring from the open windows. Three men pulled up into the yard, merrily running over one of the smoking bodies with a gruesome crunching splatter. Jeremiah’s mouth dropped open when he saw the long elegant manicured fingers of the man in the passenger’s seat. Those hands had been on the big screen. Their owner had been wearing a wolf mask. And in the backseat sat the asshole from the coffee shop.

David and he could take them right now and cull them. Jeremiah glanced toward David, who shook his head no. He made the hand sign for his little partner. David mouthed the word, “Wait.” There had been no further gunshots after the first burst of bullets. Under the roar of the fire, the silence was eerie.

Limping from where he had hidden in the rose garden, a wild-eyed human staggered toward the three men exiting the car. He appeared to be babbling, but whatever words he had were lost in the sounds of his weeping.

“My boy!” cried out the Coffee Shop Peacock, preening.

“You’re here. Orp, you came.” The man gasped with tears streaming down his face.

“I did.” The man came forward and wound his arms around the injured Sheep, who broke down in his arms. Orp pointed at each of his friends and laughed.

Up the road in a long line, flowed the black vans, returning. Jeremiah shuddered as he felt the narrow window close. His throat tightened. A jackal in the shadows, Balor swiveled and looked in their direction, eyes black and hollow as a skull’s sockets. “Someone survived.” He raised his arm to point in their direction.

As the armed staff poured from the cars, splintering into the fields, weapons exposed, he and David disappeared into the wild. The shots fired behind them startled him. They weren’t shooting at them or chasing them. The staff was putting down the wounded. These dark wraiths, the true faithful, moved outward, pausing only to ensure there wouldn’t be witnesses, just disappearances because of a tragic fire. He shuddered at the thought of what these men might do.

*

Orp…

Orp sheltered Remmy’s eyes, protecting his creature’s rather tenuous lingering grip on reality. He hissed at Balor, “This was your plan all along? To kill them?”

“It’s rather beautiful, isn’t it? A way to prove the loyalty of our true believers.” His grin was cold, a red cut of a mouth turning upward. “That’s when the real show will start.” He flicked a speck of ash off of his lapel. “Did you think I wouldn’t know that you had told the staff to bar the doors?” One of the super fans, reborn as an assassin, walked past them. He touched two fingers to his cheek and swept them across to the other side. “Foolish of you not to notice more about who we hired.”

“I trusted you.” He gave Remmy’s back an awkward pat, trying to comfort him. “What have you planned?”

“And I knew better than to trust you.” Balor looked positively gleeful. “I can’t wait for you to see what happens next.” He clapped his hands together. “But let’s clean up this mess first.”